And now followed bitter days indeed. A merciless guide and shepherd
might Le Loutre have been, but at least in him the helpless flock had
found a leader; he had forsaken them, and like silly sheep they ran
hither and thither, halting more than ever betwixt two opinions. Looking
vainly to the French for assistance, they shilly-shallyed too long with
the oath of allegiance to the English government, and began to reap the
terrible harvest accruing from long years of deceit and paltering with
honor. It has been written that a man may not serve two masters, and too
late the unhappy Acadians realized the truth of these words.
Gabriel gave thanks that it was the New England troops that were sent
out from Beauséjour, re-christened Fort Cumberland, to gather in all the
male Acadians in the vicinity, since but a small proportion had obeyed
the summons to report themselves at the fort. But he rejoiced too soon.
Winslow was soon ordered to the Basin of Mines, and especially requested
that the lieutenant who had distinguished himself during the siege might
accompany him with a few regulars.
The entire Basin of Mines, including the village of Grand Pré, having
been left comparatively undisturbed by Le Loutre and his “lambs,” still
continued to be prosperous Acadian settlements; and it was therefore
upon them that the storm broke most destructively, and it was there,
perhaps, that the saddest scenes in this sad history took place. Yet it
was here too, that the people had benefited most by the lenient English
rule, and had shown themselves most unreliable and treacherous; or, to
speak more accurately, had yielded with the greatest weakness to the
_abbé’s_ instigations, in particular as regarded the disguising of
themselves as Indians that they might plunder English settlements. By
this means they had saved their own skins, so to speak, and had been
spared many persecutions at the hands of Le Loutre. And now these
unhappy peasants, too dull of brain to thoroughly understand what they
were bringing upon themselves, refused to sign the oath of allegiance
“until after further consideration.” Already six years of such
“consideration” had been granted them by the indulgence of former
governors; and instead of considering, they had been acting,—acting the
part of traitors. As has been said, the present governors of New England
and Nova Scotia were in no mood for longer dalliance, even had they been
able to afford it. If more time were given, the French, whose forces
were the stronger, might regain all they had lost. The Acadians were
aware of the superior strength of France, and this knowledge was one of
the causes of their suicidal tardiness.
It was with a gloomy brow, therefore, that Gabriel stood one bright
September morning at the window of the vicarage at Grand Pré, gazing
forth upon the rich farms and meadowland spread before him, backed by
the azure of mountain and water. Winslow was a thorough soldier, if a
rough man; and, like every officer, regular or colonial, loathed his
task, though convinced of its necessity. At Fort Edward, farther inland,
he had found both sympathy and good fellowship in the English lieutenant
stationed there; but sociabilities had to end now, although a friendly
intercourse was kept up, Winslow and Murray remaining on the best of
terms throughout their detested work.
The two officers had decided not to interfere with the farmers until the
crops were gathered; but as Winslow’s force was greatly outnumbered by
the Acadians, he put up a palisade around the church, graveyard, and
vicarage, thus making a kind of fort. Before doing so, however, he had
directed the Acadians to remove from the church all sacred emblems lest
through the bigotry and fanaticism of the Puritan soldiers these revered
treasures should be destroyed.
The New Englander expressed his own feelings thus, in a letter to his
commanding officer: “Although it is a disagreeable path of duty we are
put upon, I am sensible it is a necessary one, and shall endeavor
strictly to obey your excellency’s orders.”
Winslow and Murray arranged to summon the habitans at the same day and
hour, in order that the stunning blow might fall on their respective
districts at once. A natural antipathy, needless to say, existed betwixt
the Puritan soldiers of New England and the habitans of Acadia. The
former, moreover, were hardened by a life of struggle and difficulty in
a climate and with a soil less genial than that of Acadie; and these
soldiers belonged to the same age and race that put to death helpless
women for witchcraft and hanged harmless Quakers for the crime of
refusing to leave the colony of Massachusetts. Yet even they must at
times have felt some pity for the unfortunate peasants, driven from
their peaceful homes. Le Loutre, however, had felt none during all the
years he had been at the same work.
When the hour arrived in which the assembled Acadians were to be told
that they were prisoners, Gabriel had begged of Winslow’s clemency that
he might be absent from the church; and now, as he stood sadly at the
window of the vicarage parlor, the door of the room was softly pushed
open, and Marin stood before him. His little eyes were restless with
fear, and his naturally crafty countenance was drawn and pale.
Gabriel uttered an exclamation, and sprang forward.
“Tchut!” The peasant put his finger to his lips. “I was in Halifax, eh,
_M. le Capitain_?” he whispered. “Nay, but here am I at Grand Pré—and
so much the worse for a good Catholic! I said, I have tricked these
heretics before and I will trick them again. It is a good deed—but this
time the holy saints were not with me.”
The young officer made a gesture of despair and disgust.
“But, friend Marin, what of thy given word? Didst thou not promise me
that if I obtained permission for thee to go to Halifax, thither thou
wouldst go?”
The man shrugged his shoulders.
“Assuredly. But what of that? One more or less—what matters it? At
Grand Pré no foolish oath was then required—at Halifax, yes!”
“But how didst thou escape from the church?”
“Oh, that was not difficult. We were caught, we men, as rats in a trap;
but the general yielded to our tears and prayers, and we are to choose
daily twenty to go home and console the wives and children. I am among
the first lot chosen, and——”
Gabriel interrupted him impatiently.
“But Louis Herbes, is he also at Grand Pré?”
“Alas, no! the wife, she was too strong. They proceeded to Halifax. I
too desire to go thither now if thou, who art of Acadie, wilt aid me.”
“When thou needest help before, I was of the hated English,” retorted
the young man grimly. “But be I what I may, English or Acadian, I serve
honor first—and so bethink thee!”
“Honor? Assuredly, _M. le Capitain_! Yet listen.” He came nearer,
lowering his voice to a whisper. “I come not back, hearest thou?”
“And what of thy countrymen here? Of a certainty they will be held
answerable for thy treachery.”
“That will be thy part to arrange,” observed Marin coolly.
Gabriel, ever quick to act, sprang upon the peasant and seized him by
the collar of his blouse. For a moment anger deprived him of the power
of speech. Then—
“And thou wilt make me traitor too!” he cried. “Almost I could wish that
no blood of Acadie ran in my veins!”
“And Margot—is she not Acadian?”
Marin was quite unabashed, and there was a leer in the small eyes he
turned up to the young giant who held him as a mastiff holds a rat.
At the name of Margot, Gabriel loosed the man, covered his eyes with his
hands and sank into a chair.
“Ah, Margot!” he groaned.
“Yes, Margot, I say again. Thou wilt let me go, and thou wilt swear that
thou knowest of a truth that I overstayed my time, and was drowned in
the marshes hurrying hither in the darkness of the night, that thou
didst strive to save me and failed. The salt marshes receive the dead,
and cover them kindly. All this thou dost know, and my good character
also. Who will doubt the word of a brave soldier?”
“A clumsy plot, indeed, even were I willing to forswear my honor for
thee!”
Gabriel had his friend by the collar again.
“Release me, or I will not tell thee what I know!” ejaculated Marin
sullenly.
“Tell, and be done!”
The young man let go of his prisoner so suddenly that the fellow nearly
fell upon the floor.
“Not so fast, my brave _capitain_!” Marin was eying him now from a safe
distance. “Not a word of the _belle cousine_ dost thou win from me until
I have thy promise to aid me to escape.”
[Illustration: “‘And thou wilt make me traitor too,’ he cried.”]
Gabriel was silent.
“It is as I say. I know where Margot is to be found, but——” Marin
paused expressively.
Gabriel still did not answer. When at last he spoke, his voice was low
and stern.
“Marin, I owe thee somewhat in that thou didst open thy doors to my
cousin and her friends in their time of stress. Thou hast said that I am
Acadian. True! But also am I English, and an English soldier and a
Protestant. There is my faith and my honor—both forbid a lie. Not even
for Margot can I do this thing.”
His voice broke, and he turned away. Well, he knew the combined
obstinacy and ignorance of the typical Acadian peasant, such as in some
sort Marin was, and he hoped nothing. Marin, on the contrary, not
understanding the situation, would not give up, and, in the few
remaining minutes left uninterrupted, worked his hardest. The temptation
was sore indeed, and by the time his tormentor was summoned to accompany
the deputies, Gabriel’s young face was pale and drawn with the struggle.
“Tell me but one thing,” he said ere they parted, “is it well with her?”
“Well? How know I?” retorted the Acadian, surveying the result of his
work with mingled complacency and disgust. “Perhaps!”
But for the tremendous pressure already being put upon his unhappy
commander by the events of this fifth day of September, Gabriel would
have gone directly to him, and despite his gratitude to Marin for past
services, would have requested that he be detained until he should
reveal the whereabouts of Margot. But Winslow, New England Puritan
though he might be, was finding, in common with his English
brother-in-arms at Fort Edward, “things very heavy on his heart and
hands”; so Gabriel forebore to trouble him with his own matters.
And if his superior’s heart was heavy, how much heavier was his—born
and reared an Acadian of the Acadians, and now with personal loss and
grief added to his other sorrows!
Marin, though crafty and self-seeking, had not the daring to break his
word, unsheltered as he was by Gabriel from the righteous wrath of his
compatriots; so night saw him back within the stockade. He kept his
secret, nevertheless, and neither persuasion nor threats prevailed with
him. The rest of the prisoners were all strangers to Gabriel, and had
never heard of him before; and for reasons of his own, Marin kept their
previous acquaintance dark.
As the days went on, and the prisoners increased in number both at Fort
Edward and Grand Pré, the commanding officers grew uneasy. The
transports that were to bear away the Acadian families with their
household goods were slow in arriving, and it would have been easy for
the prisoners, had they been men of courage and resolution, to overpower
their guards and escape. Unfortunately the Acadian character possessed
none of those qualities necessary for the preservation of freedom, or
for the reclaiming of it if lost. Gabriel’s duties kept him constantly
within the stockade; and the small force having no horses with them, and
the village of Grand Pré, together with the other settlements,
straggling for many miles, he had never been within a league of the
house of Marin or encountered any chance acquaintance. The times were
too strenuous, the crisis too tremendous, to permit of the least
relaxation on the part of a loyal officer.
But although the transports delayed, ships from Boston came and anchored
in the Basin. Winslow thereupon resolved to place about half of his
prisoners upon these ships, and keep them there for better security
until the transports should arrive. To Gabriel, because of his complete
understanding of the language and the nature of his fellow-countrymen,
the general left the hard task of explaining to the prisoners what was
required of them, and of persuading them to submit quietly.
All were very silent as they stood in the churchyard guarded by
soldiers. Winslow himself kept rather in the background, leaving his
subordinate to enact the part of principal in this trying scene. The
general, though a good soldier and popular with his men, had hitherto
passed for a person somewhat ignorant and over-much addicted to
self-satisfaction. But in the last few weeks he had had little
opportunity for satisfaction even with himself. “This affair is more
grievous to me than any service I was ever employed in!” was his
constant lament. And now, as he stood quietly watching Gabriel, he
observed for the first time the change in the young man. He was pale and
wan, and his eyes wore the look of one who is forever seeking and never
finding.
In a low, clear voice he announced the decision of the general, assured
them of their perfect safety, and also that the wives and children of
the married would soon be restored to them.
For a while a great murmuring prevailed, which Gabriel was powerless to
subdue; it seemed as if, despite every effort, bloodshed must be the
result of the manifesto. The New England soldiers, as has been said, had
little sympathy with the “idolaters,” and were ready at a word to make
short work of them. But Winslow was reluctant to say that word, and ere
long Gabriel had the prisoners once more under control. A given number
of unmarried men were then selected, these being sent off under guard to
the ships; after them were to follow a smaller number of married men.
Gabriel stood like a figure carved in stone at the head of his handful
of soldiers, whilst the commanding officer himself selected the Acadian
husbands and fathers. Suddenly, before the guard could interfere, a
figure hurled itself out of the chosen group and precipitated itself
upon Gabriel, while a voice shrieked:
“Thou, thou who art an Acadian, thou canst save me! me, who took the
cousin into my house and fed and sheltered her! Answer, dost hear?”
But Gabriel was on duty, and made as though he neither heard nor saw.
Shaking Marin from his arm, he motioned to his men to replace him in the
ranks.
Winslow’s curiosity, ever active, was, however, aroused, and seizing his
opportunity, he drew his subordinate to one side and questioned him.
Gabriel replied with his customary brevity and straightforwardness.
“And why did you not come at once to me, sir?” rejoined Winslow, puffing
and mopping his fat, red face.
The young man stated his reasons, adding that though Marin might
possibly know where Margot was, no reliance was to be placed upon the
word of a man who was concerned only for his own comfort and had no
respect for truth.
“That may be, that may be,” fussed the kind-hearted general. “But,
lieutenant, you will now conduct these men to the ships. Their women
will of a surety line the way along which you have to pass. Assure them
of my permission to visit their men-folk daily until this troublesome
job be at an end—as God grant it may be ere long. Your eyes may be on
the women as well as on your duty, eh? You are young, yet I have proven
you worthy of trust.”
So saying, the general bustled off, and shortly after the gates of the
stockade were again opened and the procession started for the shores of
the Basin.
For one of Gabriel’s years and position the task set him, though kindly
intentioned, was a heartbreaking one. But a few miles distant, near the
mouth of the Annapolis River, he and Margot had been born and reared. In
spite of his manhood, or perhaps because he was so true a man, the hot
tears rose to his eyes, kept from falling only by the might of his iron
will; for all along the wayside toward the water’s edge kneeled or stood
the wives and children of the men tramping beside him through the late
summer’s dust, gazing as they passed not merely on those wives and
children, but upon the wide and fertile meadows whose harvests they
should never gather more.
At intervals as he walked Gabriel proclaimed the general’s behests and
promises; and one or two women, who knew now for the first time of his
presence in the neighborhood and recognized him, pressed forward to
clasp his hands and cover them with tears, and plead with the man who,
as a little babe, they had held upon their strong knees and pressed to
their broad Acadian bosoms. Unable longer to endure in silence, on his
own account he at length called a halt, and in loud, ringing tones spoke
these words:
“Fellow-countrymen, I serve my general, and him I must obey. But his
heart, even as my own, is heavy for your sufferings, and again I tell
you that your husbands and fathers are not being borne away from you.
They will remain on the ships but a short distance from the shore, and
every day you can visit them until such time as the transports arrive
and you all sail away together, you and your children and your household
goods. Grieve not, then, for loss which is not yours.”
Concluding his brief address he stepped down from the low mound upon
which he had mounted, and confronted the wife of Marin. Evidently she
belonged to the class of women whose indifference had so greatly
astonished the English lieutenant; for her face was calm, and she smiled
as she met Gabriel’s eyes. It was impossible for him to pause longer,
but although her husband’s malevolent gaze was riveted upon her, Julie
extended her hand and caught that of the young officer as he swung past
on the march.
“Look for me at the church,” she whispered, “at the hour of vespers.”
Gabriel’s impulsive heart leaped within him, and in an instant a
thousand wild hopes and imaginings were seething in his brain; and the
women, being appeased and many of them hurrying homeward to prepare
meals to carry to the ships, he was left unmolested. He concluded his
task without further difficulty, and returned to the church.
The general, relieved from pressing anxiety, was in a mood to satisfy
his natural curiosity, and having received his lieutenant’s formal
report, began to ply him with questions respecting his personal affairs.
Gabriel answered without reserve.
“Mark me, sir!” exclaimed Winslow delightedly, “the maiden comes hither
this night with the woman. Then will we have some romance in these
melancholy times.”
And forgetting his dignity, he clapped his subordinate violently on the
shoulder. And Gabriel found nothing to say.